17
by Tensleep
Summary: A look at three 17 year old Greasers we all know the stories of Song fic


This is my first attempt at a song fic. I was reminded of the outsiders when I heard it the first time and hopefully I did it a bit of justice. It's just taken me months to even start writing it. So be kind and tell me if it stinks, but write your flames well.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders by S.E. Hinton or the song "17" By Cross Canadian Ragweed.

There is no chronological order to the different parts.

* * *

**Steve**

"_Sirens wail and a flashing light_

_Nothing better to do on a Tuesday night,_

_But give me hell..."_

"You just can't keep out of trouble, can you?" Tony Randle yelled, spit flying from his lips.

"It ain't like that, Pop," Steve said calmly.

"I have to leave this house in the middle of the night to bail you out of jail, and _it ain't like that_?" He snapped. "How the hell is it then?"

Steve looked his father in the eye, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't get him belted across the face. So his normally cocky attitude had taken a back seat tonight. He had nothing to say. He didn't have to explain himself and he wasn't going to. It was just another Tuesday night, just another screaming match, and just another time to get kicked out. It was life, there was no way around it, and Steve had come to accept that a long time ago. Didn't mean it didn't hurt, but there was no changing it and he wasn't going to make excuses to try and make it better for himself.

"Where're the smart remarks now?" His father taunted. "You can't do anything right, can you?"

"Why the hell did you bother bailing me out then?" Steve finally asked, getting mad that he was just taking this.

He saw his mother stick her head out the bedroom door and his question was answered. The only things he could count on in this house were his mother's love and his father's angry tone, if you didn't count the bags of empty beer bottles.

"Get the hell out boy," his father snapped. "And don't ever come back. I mean it this time!"

"Suits me just fine," Steve snapped back, slamming the front door behind him. He both heard and felt the beer bottle shattering against it.

Steve's hands shook with anger for a moment. Anger was a lot easier to deal with than rejection. He was far from the perfect son, and that drunk was far from being a decent father, but they were stuck in the roles. He shrugged it off and started walking. It didn't matter where as long as he had a chance to cool off. By morning, his father would be sober and he could go home. His father would feel guilty and five bucks would be exchanged, but it never made up for it. Being told you let everyone down, that you were nothing but white trash by your own father could never be made up for by five bucks. He let his feet take him along the park and out of the neighbourhood where the lights were still bright at this time of night.

"_Where you headed?_

_What are you out for?_

_We don't see much of you 'round here anymore_

_I guess it's just as well..."_

Steve let his mind wander back to before his dad got laid off and started drinking, before the job he hates, even before his mom started cowering and hiding from him when he was drunk. Life just wasn't fair. Steve had a loving home once, one he didn't get thrown out of at least once a week. Things had changed and what they had once was just reminding him of the bad times now. At least there was the gang and Soda. At least he had somewhere to turn, even if he couldn't change anything. Hell, he was still a junior in high school! Not even a legal adult.

"_Once upon a time you had it all_

_Then you let everybody down_

_You're only 17 in your home town."_

Maybe things would get better, and maybe things wouldn't, but for right now he was only 17 and he couldn't change anything. But he could hope. It wasn't something a Greaser often did, but Steve had a little of it left in him. Hope that one day he would make things better. He smiled, thinking about the future and not the past.

"_Runnin' from your folks, runnin' from the law_

_Runnin' from love, runnin' from your fears_

_Rrunnin' from it all_

_You keep on running boy_

_You'll run yourself in the ground_

_You're only 17 in your home town"  
_

**Sodapop**

Sandy.

Why did she have to haunt his days and nights? He didn't know anymore, but she was all Soda could think about. Everyone told him to forget her and he wished he could, but once in a while he couldn't help but wonder about her after all this time. He thought mostly the what ifs, but then there a]were the everyday questions. Mostly, _'where are you now and do you ever think of me?'_ He should move on. He looks at all the other girls and compares them to her, and feels like he's betraying her like she did to him when she left. He just can't win, and in turn he can't be happy. It was a mean circle.

"What are you thinking about?" Ponyboy asked, looking up from his book.

"Nothing, really." Soda shrugged. "I guess life mostly."

"I'm here if you want to share," he offered.

How could he ever share? Pony would be one of the precious few that would understand, but Sandy was something he didn't like talking about. Soda loved her still, and that hurt more than anything.

"Nah, you go back to your book. I'm going to go find Steve or something," Soda said, turning off the TV and grabbing his jacket.

"Ok," Pony replied absently, back into his book again.

Soda grinned and shook his head, before letting the door bang closed behind him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and wondered if this was such a good idea. It was getting colder, even colder than the night she took off. At least he was wearing a jacket this time.

How many times had he followed the familiar path to her house without even knowing it? How many times was he surprised to look up and see the familiar white shutters or the big wood door? Far too many, and yet here he was again, helpless to prevent it and not really knowing if he wanted to. She wasn't going to be there, though. She'd moved on to a new life in Florida where she could raise her own kids and date some Soc with a tan. Soda got to thinking about her again, occasionally rubbing his arms to keep them warm. He even thought back to the day they met and it seemed to take only an instant between the present and the past. What had happened to them? Maybe if he knew he could move on.

"_Her porch swing still looks the same_

_She probably won't even remember my name_

_Just like she didn't back then_

_Is she married? _

_Is she doing fine?_

_Does she know about all the nights I spent awake cryin'_

_Just to know her hand?..."_

He sighed. All he had were unanswered questions and nothing to do but think on them. Maybe if he could sit still long enough, he could wrap his head into a book like Pony and take his mind off everything. Who was he kidding? He needed to find some action. He needed to go out dancing again or drag race with the guys. He needed to be himself again, like how life was when Sandy was still there. Soda frowned and shook out the picture of her that came to mind. Those china blue eyes that knew everything in his heart, and that smile that made him feel like the luckiest guy on earth. He was never gonna forget her and it scared him. He was scared he would never again feel love the way he had, and scared that he couldn't move on. A light for the porch came on and he looked hopeful. It wouldn't be Sandy and Sandy was the only one he wanted to see. Her folks hated him with a passion and it wasn't wise to hang around.

"_The door opens and I run away_

_Just like the same old clown_

_You're only 17 in your home town."_

Soda ended up down at Jay's. He usually ended up at the Dingo, but Jay's was closer to Sandy's, and it was a place where music was playing and people were just hanging out. Most of them were his age and no one gave him a second look, unless it was to smile. _Two-bit should be here,_ Soda thought. _He'd fit right in_. It was just the place Soda needed to be. He had missed the party crowd.

"Want to dance?" A pretty brunette he hadn't noticed was at his side, batting her lashes.

"I don't think so," he declined a little too fast and she looked hurt.

He was letting the hurt talk again. He was letting the fear take over, and he was letting opportunity slide through his fingers. The brunette turned away and his heart felt for her. He had rejected her almost before she could ask. Soda sighed. Maybe the way to let go was to forget, and to forget was to keep busy. Dancing had always kept Soda busy.

"On second thought, I would love to dance," Soda said, flashing his famous grin.

She smiled and they danced. Maybe he was moving on.

"_Runnin' from your folks, Runnin' from the law_

_Runnin' from love, Runnin' from your fears_

_Runnin' from it all_

_You keep on running boy,_

_You'll run yourself in the ground_

_You're only 17 in your home town."  
_

**Dallas**

Dallas whirled around and hit the wall suddenly, making Ponyboy jump. His face contracted in agony, and sweat streamed down his temples. He was in pain, and for the first time he couldn't hold it in. He couldn't mask it and put on a tough front.

"Damnit, Johnny..." He begged.

Slamming one fist against the wall, he hammered it to make it obey his will, to give himself a pain he could handle. Looking at a dead body had never fazed him. Why should it now? Johnny was just a kid. He didn't deserve to die. Johnny had a life ahead of him and he had to go and waste it on those blasted kids! Why couldn't they have burned instead of Johnny? Why did it hurt so much?

"Oh, damnit, Johnny...Don't die, please don't die..."

Dallas looked over at the lifeless body again and felt his walls start to fall. Everything he had kept inside was threatening to let loose, everything he had never let go was starting to come out. He couldn't take it. He bolted. The people in the halls watched him go and he pushed past them wanting to be outside so he could run and not think anymore.

The cool air hit him and he realized his face was wet. He raised a trembling hand to his cheek and brought it away. The tips of his fingers were wet in the light from the hospital doors. What was wrong with him? He didn't cry! Dallas Winston didn't even know how to cry! So why was it happening now? He wiped his face hurriedly and set the best mask he could manage on his face. He needed to get out of there, away from where those doctors had let Johnny die. He wasn't thinking, but he did have Buck's keys and the empty gun.

He didn't know what he was going to do, but the only person in the world he gave a hang about was gone. What else was there? Let go of everything and become hard as rock and twice as emotionless? Was that living or just delaying death? He let out an angry roar and peeled out of the hospital parking lot.

Death. Death was the only way out. The only way to stop the pain, and from what those church goers said, it was the only way to see Johnny again. He wanted to die and no one was going to deny him that. That's when he pulled up in front of the grocery store, a plan falling into place. To die he would need a little help.

"_Nobody's gonna miss me_

_No tears'll fall, no one's gonna weep _

_When I hit that wall..."_

He walked in and looked over at the clerk. The man instantly stiffened, looking for all the world like something smelly had just walked into the store. That's right, just another Greaser looking like hell and up to no good. Well this time he was right, and this time there would be trouble. No one was going to sneer down on Dallas ever again. He wandered around for a minute or two just thinking. Thinking how much better everything would be when he ended the pain, when he fell, when he was with Johnny again. He even got to thinking about how his old man would take the news. Probably wouldn't even spring for a marker. Just think it was another part of his life he hated gone.

He fingered the gun, liking the feel of it in his hand, the coldness of it. The power behind it was absent when it was empty, but the affect would be the same. He was tired. Tired of the fronts, tired of the reps, and tired of the ring on his finger. He cursed Sylvia then. He couldn't even have someone special miss him. Life had never been fair and now he was ready to even the odds. No more Socs or Greasers or cheating girls or being sneered at. No more rep, no more fights, and no more life. He was done with it. He wasn't going to keep anything in. He walked up to the till and drew the gun.

"_My boots are broken, my brain is sore_

_From keeping up with their little world_

_I got a heavy load..."_

He was running now with the sirens of police cars splitting the air. It was nothing new, and yet it gave him an exhilarated feeling. This was it. There would be nothing if he played his cards right. It was almost like New York right then. There was nothing to hold him back, no one in his life, no one that cared about him, and no one who would miss him when he was gone. It was the type of death people remembered. It wouldn't be heroic or anything special, but it was the way he expected to go out, and it wouldn't surprise anyone. He grinned bitterly. He would get a death in battle, the only way he had ever lived. He wished Tim could see it. One last time to boast before he was gone.

"_Gonna leave 'em all just like before_

_I'm big city bound_

_You're always 17 in your home town."_

The bullets cut through the air, and a grim smile crossed his face as he felt their impact. The gun slipped from his fingers and he closed his eyes. This is what he wanted. This pain he could handle for he knew it wouldn't last long. He fell to his knees as more bullets impacted his chest. The taste of blood came up his throat and into his mouth. So this was it, the taste of death. He thought it was all too familiar when he fell forward onto the black top. His grim smile broadened and everything was getting dark. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to, but he didn't feel either. He couldn't hear his friends yelling, loud now that the bullets had ceased. This was the end and he was gladly accepting it.

"_Runnin' from your folks, runnin' from the law_

_Runnin' from love, Runnin' from your fears _

_Runnin' from it all_

_You keep on runnin' boy_

_You'll run yourself in the ground_

_You're always 17 in your home town."_


End file.
